indigently | 𝒪𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓉 🏛️

[ Kaveh is at that stage in his drunkenness where Alhaitham's look and words paired together serve only to make him laugh, and he answers them by releasing his hold on the other's arm and resting his hand on the scribe's shoulder instead. Of course, he was joking, but something about the look on the other's face, the flat statement that this is not a lap dance—

They've drunk together many times before, and every time through the haze of the alcohol he forgets all those things about Alhaitham that drive him to frustration when he's sober, focuses instead on those that make him crazy in all the right ways. Even drunk, he's never acted on it.

But tonight is different somehow. He can practically feel the tension from the other room bleeding through the walls. Whether it's jealousy or the urge to just forget what he heard, Kaveh's grin shifts to something a little darker as a look of contemplation crosses his features. ]

Then allow me to reword the question: Would it be a worthwhile replacement for a polite "please"?

[The slant of Alhaitham's eyebrows deepens. He's staring up at Kaveh as though he's looking at an interesting rune that he's seen before but never really managed to decipher its intricacies. An unusual thing, as the Scribe tends to read Kaveh quite well and readily so.

He tilts his head, then looks at the bottle in his hand, tilting it, too, to double-check the amount of wine inside.] You're not bartering a lap dance for one-fifth of a bottle of wine. Kaveh.

[Maybe another moment, and he'd be able to say why it's so strange that Kaveh would rather grind on his lap than be courteous.] Is saying please so difficult?

[ He can't quite tell, through the drink, if Alhaitham is scolding him or disbelieving him. It doesn't matter— either way it's a rejection. Which, you know, is fine— he's a grown man, he can take it. It's probably better they don't do anything anyway, especially drunk...

Kaveh stands from the other's lap, a little wobblier than before, resolute in his decision not to show any disappointment, an intent that he fails immediately by scowling again as he straightens up.

At least his eyes are back on the bottle as he does. ]

My buzz is very quickly being ruined, so please will you give me the wine.

Edited 2023-07-18 13:41 (UTC)

[He feels cold, when Kaveh stands up, somehow, and even the extra swig he takes doesn't do much to warm him back up.

So he tugs the wavering architect back onto his lap. Missing entirely the disappointment in his face only because he's so intrigued by his own. Alhaitham nods, though, pleased. And presses the bottle onto one of his hands.]

Thank you. [He says, and it's strangely and honestly pleasant. Like he's satisfied that he found a solution to his problem.] Here you go.

[ He's too busy feeling kind of sorry for himself to have any expectations; even if he did, to be pulled back onto Alhaitham's lap isn't one he would hold. So he yelps when it suddenly happens, peering up at him as the bottle is pushed into his hand.

Mm. Maybe not quite as rejected as he thought.

With a smile, he accepts the bottle, tipping it to his lips for a swig, sighing pleasantly at the sharpness of the flavor on his tongue. With the bottle significantly emptier, he lowers it between them, his head tilting. As always with Alhaitham, words of gratitude struggle to reach his lips; in the spirit of the strangeness of this moment stretching between them, he forces one anyway: ]

Thanks.

[He's too busy looking at the way Kaveh's throat bobs as he swallows the wine, the way it stains his lips when he withdraws from the bottle. Alhaitham is staring at the bottle between them with the mental equivalent of what his headphones do and mute everything out.

He does jerk up, feeling the rumble of the architect's voice near him more than actually listening to the words.

(He should probably be concerned that he's so mindless, but he's not. Go figure.)]

What did you say?

[ Kaveh's own mental state is impaired enough that he doesn't realize Alhaitham's question to be a genuine one; yet again, his smile changes to a scowl as he stares at the other man. ]

We're not doing this again! [ he snaps, tone sharp with irritation. ] This isn't something worth thanking you three times! [ And he punctuates the point with another swig, two separate gulps against the lip of the bottle before he pulls it away, leaving mere dregs to swish at the bottom as he lowers it once more, ruby gaze defiant. ]

I said it once, so if you want more gratitude, thank yourself!

[ (Oh, but his head is spinning.) ]

[He frowns. Something about thankfulness, gratitude. Ah, so he had thanked him and he had missed it.

Some things apparently were never meant to align. He wonders if they ever will be with them after their first, only, and life-changing rift between them.

Alhaitham shakes his head. He's drunk. They both are. The sobering thought flits through him like a crystafly spooked by something near a statue.

But he does notice the slight sway on his own lap, and he leaves what he hopes is a steadying hand on the architect's shoulder. Wraps his fingers carefully around the bottle without removing it from Kaveh's grasp. Leans back, and brings his roommate with him, making them lean on each other for support, and Alhaitham's back on the steady surface of the back of the chair.

Maybe like this, the world will stop spinning around them.] Hm. Alright.

[ Alhaitham's frown is enough to show Kaveh that the other man didn't quite mean it the way it was taken; it's too late for him to apologize for the misunderstanding, though, nor does he think he could find the words. In moments like these, the space between their emotional bodies feels like an abyss, howling with cold dark winds.

Ironic perhaps, given the way Alhaitham's hand finds his shoulder, draws him closer as he leans back against the chair. Kaveh's face comes to a rest against his shoulder, the resultant, shuddering breath ghosting over the skin of the scribe's throat. ]

Mm, that doesn't sound like a "thank you", [ he murmurs with a laugh, instead of questioning the tug against the other's body. He's teasing, perhaps all he can do in the situation now that he's been left feeling guilty for misjudging Alhaitham's intent. ]

I have thanked you already.

[He finally does pluck the bottle from Kaveh's grasp, but it's only to have something to do, so he doesn't get distracted from the laugh warming the skin of his throat. He places the bottle back within the wrap of his fingers.] Do you want me to say it two more times?

No, not me. [ He chuckles again, shifts his eyes as he watches Alhaitham move the bottle back and forth between the two of them. ] You're thanking yourself, remember? Since you wanted gratitude so much...

[ He nudges the bottle a little more firmly in the other's direction, watching the last half inch slosh around in its base. ]

Drink. A reward for being so polite.

[ A pause, and then: ] What would you have to thank me for anyway?

I'm sure you can come up… [He clears his throat.] With the answer to that.

[He knows that more than any criticism he aims at Kaveh, the architect will take wrongly anything that may relate to what he feels about him, no matter how positive it is.

Alhaitham shakes his head, pretends to be much more tired than he is as he closes his eyes and lets the side of his head rest on Kaveh's.] I don't want to drink anymore.

[ He can? Kaveh tilts his head, peers up at Alhaitham through alcohol-hazed eyes. Weird. The scribe isn't the type to shy away from an answer, not even while drunk— so why is he doing so now?

Not only that, but he tiredly rests his head against Kaveh's, rejecting the last of the wine. Kaveh hums in response, tilting the bottle gently against his own lips until the last of the liquid touches his tongue; only then does he lower it into his lap, head canting against Alhaitham's in response. ]

You've never rejected my questions before— [ he murmurs, although there's that typical demanding note in his tone, ] —so why not tell me yourself? I won't be offended.

[ A strange promise to make, perhaps, if either of them were anyone else. But Alhaitham knows as well as he does that Kaveh is quick to take the scribe's words as insult more often than not. (Although the architect would deny it if asked, of course.)

His hands are idle now; one comes up to brace on the younger's chest. ] Come on. Tell me.

Stubborn. [It doesn't sound like a complaint or an insult. It's as though it's part of who Kaveh is, and he's long embraced it.

He peers down at the hand on his chest, peels it away, but only to cradle it in his own and look at it as if the lines on Kaveh's palm hold interesting runes to decipher.] You're always offended.

Am not. [ He mutters it into the air, shaking his head as he curls in a little closer, eyes watching the way Alhaitham's hand takes his— teeth pressing momentarily into his wine-stained lower lip. ] You are.

[ Stubborn? Always offended? Both? Either way, at this point Kaveh is lying, and he knows it. Alhaitham is stubborn, but so is he. And of the two of them, he's easily the more-often offended party. But if he didn't reject it, then he wouldn't be who he is, and so this whole discussion wouldn't be happening in the first place.

His fingers flex under the other's touch, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. ]

If I'm offended, I'll do the dishes by myself for the rest of the month.

Aren't you being stubborn when you insist that you're not? [He says without skipping a beat, even if his voice is low, a little more mellow, definitely slurred at bits. Of course, Haravatat would have the idiots who somehow manage to stay eloquent even when inebriated.

He moves his eyes from Kaveh's palm to his ruby ones.] You realize that that's an incentive for me to try to offend you, and not the other way around?

[ A roll of his eyes. ] Aren't you being stubborn when you continue to try to change the subject?

[ Kaveh's speech isn't quite slurred, but he is very distracted; his eyes keep slipping to where his hand is caught in Alhaitham's, then back to where emerald eyes bore into his— mm, it's not quite fair how good he looks. That reminder surfaces at the back of his mind again, insistent— he wasn't actually rejected before— ]

Mm, then let me modify it a little. If you do offend me, no dishes. If you don't— [ He hums, his mind sorting through the words. ] If you don't offend me, perhaps a reward is in order?

Being stubborn often originates from being fearful of change. [He shrugs.

He's not afraid of change. Even a peaceful life, he has learned, has different shapes, different people. Even if he was, he's in no condition to start questioning much.

He tilts his head, considering. After a moment where he's just staring at Kaveh in silence, he nods.] That sounds like an adequate agreement.

[ It's good that the subject has moved on, or he might glare at the other all over again. Kaveh isn't afraid of change, and he doesn't enjoy the implication that he might be! (Even if what's actually happening is as simple as Alhaitham defending himself against the blonde's accusations.)

But the offer is accepted, and he smiles instead, something self-content, a hand lifting to idly skate his thumb across the other's lower lip. ]

You can request a specific reward if you like, [ he mumbles, ] but if there's no objection, I'm going to reward you with a kiss.

[Alhaitham frowns, his mouth instinctively parting at the touch, the angle of Kaveh's hand making it invisible in his line of sight and startling the scribe an increment. He shakes his head and plucks something absently from the lock on the side of Kaveh's face. The look he gives him is narrowed, his eyelids heavy with the thick air that rests on their skin, heavier with the breaths of their whispers to each other, the warmth of their bodies together. He's fond, because, of course, Kaveh would pick giving a reward to Alhaitham instead of demanding one for himself.] You're rewarding me on both results. There must be a benefit for you in one of them.

[ He laughs, shakes his head. ]

No I'm not. You forgot... or maybe you misheard. [ Or, in actuality, Kaveh's inebriated state meant he wasn't very clear in the first place. It doesn't seem to matter to him either way though, his thumb sneaking a half inch between those parted lips as Alhaitham's fingers pluck something from the side of his face. ] You offend me... no dishes. I won't do any of them at all—

[ He leans in just that bit closer, until his thumb is the only thing keeping their mouths from actually touching, his smile quirking just that little bit wider, his breath a fraction more labored than before as their closeness, as the promise of more, starts to impact him more than before. ]

But I want to kiss you, so... try really hard to say something nice.

[Alhaitham breathes deep, his chest rising gently, lowering slowly. It's silly, to be surprised at the fact that Kaveh wants to kiss him, even in his slightly drunken state. They've been circling around each other for so long, but Alhaitham knows how Kaveh works, how his insecurity weaves itself around him. To try to be soothing always holds risk.

The Scribe purses his lips against the thumb, at least getting something about it with a kiss on the pad. Perhaps it's opportunistic to use the loophole of their agreement, but he's willful, too.]

I'm thankful for that day in the House of Daena.

[ A slight smile flickers at Kaveh's lips when Alhaitham's lips purse against his thumb; the expression is replaced in the next second though by one of surprise, eyes widening in response to what the other says— and despite the fact that he knows it's biologically impossible, he would swear his heart skips a beat. That's possibly the nicest thing Alhaitham has ever said to him, to the point that Kaveh wonders for a moment if it's what the other originally meant to say, or if he's chosen something he knows will earn him the reward— for a moment, he wants to ask, but

it doesn't matter.

A few stuttered breaths fall off his lips as he stares, and then Kaveh's hand slides to Alhaitham's cheek, the blonde surging forward to press his mouth to the other man's. A soft whimper surfaces on his lips at the feeling, his other hand clutching fingers into the scribe's knee.

He's a little drunk, but— gods, this is everything he's needed for so long now. ]

[He wonders if the vice grip on his knee means nerves or earnestness. Kaveh permeates the roof of his mouth with wine-scented breath, and instead of scrunching his nose, Alhaitham finds that he doesn't mind it, doesn't care about it at all.

He leans in halfway, canting his head just slightly, then finding he did it too much and adjusting. Alhaitham isn't good at this, but his mind is far from the assessment of his performance, honing in on the shape of his roommate's lips, and the sound he's releasing when they slot just so, the fact that he barely feels the groan he lets out until it's slipping between his teeth.

Alhaitham's hand rests heavy on Kaveh's waist, steadying, grounding. He wants to take hold of his head and keep him there, kiss him over and over and over, but he knows it's the alcohol talking, it's the warmth of him on his lap. He'll take what he can get.]

[ The over-cant of Alhaitham's head gives Kaveh momentary pause— not into their kiss, but in his mind alone— is he inexperienced? Or just nervous the way the blonde is, those fingers pressing bruises into the space around the scribe's kneecaps. It's a mark that he should tread carefully, but the alcohol wins out over sensible thought for now— especially when the other groans.

He's barely aware of the sound on his own lips, but that on Alhaitham's, that groan, it does something to him, sets something alight in the deep of his gut that has him pressing closer, has the fingers on Alhaitham's face slide up and into his hair, pulling him in despite the worry of the moment just before.

Alhaitham can have whatever he wants; for sounds like that one, Kaveh will give him anything and everything.

Another soft sound answers the groan, the blonde's tongue skating over the scribe's lower lip in an echo of his thumb from moments before, teasing and seeking at the same time. ]

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